Nerima Fight Club
by Bro. Ala
Summary: Mousse finds a new friend - Tyler Durden!


Nerima Fight Club/p  
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Disclaimer: I own none of the characters I am placing in this parody, nor do I own any part of the story of which I am lampooning. They are the property of Rumiko Takihashi, and 20th century fox, respectively./p  
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Note: None of this will make sense unless you have seen or at least heard a GREAT deal about the movie "Fight Club"/p  
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Enjoy!/p  
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Chapter 1/p  
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'I'm gazing down the barrel of a colt .45 and beginning to severely sweat. This is _not_ good. I strain momentarily against my bonds, but I decided a while ago struggling would get me nowhere; besides, I have one hand free. It can't be all bad, right? Returning my gaze to the gun barrel, I'm reaffirming how bad it is.'/p  
/p  
Mousse peeled his eyes from his instrument of imminent doom, and took a glance at the individual who would be the harbinger. Mousse didn't know what to make of all this; everything had happened so fast. What the hell brought him to this? /p  
"Any words to commemorate the moment?" asked the man./p  
"ugh...aagh....ink.. uh....ehy..." began the youth./p  
/p  
'one can only speak in vowels in this situation'/p  
/p  
With a smirk, the gun was violently pulled from his mouth, and his would-be killer stalked over to the massive picture-window nearby./p  
"I can't think of any," replied Mousse./p  
"Ease up, Mousse. Three minutes. You've got the best seat in the house for the biggest fireworks show anyone's seen in Japan since Hiroshima. Think about all we've accomplished! Sit back, and relax," said the man./p  
/p  
'Relax! Yeah, that's a sure possibility. Considering the past month or so, and considering _very_ carefully who _exactly_ this being is, relaxing is the absolute last thing on my mind. Somehow, I realize all of this -- the gun, the bombs, the revolution -- is really about Xian Fu, my darling Shampoo. You know what? This is a pretty crappy beginning to tell my story. I think we need to rewind a little....'/p  
/p  
******/p  
Mousse felt himself plastered into the feminine folds of a very classical-style Kimono. Pulling himself out for air, he found himself face to face with a name tag: Konatsu. The image froze. /p  
/p  
'No, back up, this is still not the beginning...."/p  
******/p  
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'For six months I could not sleep.'/p  
/p  
Mousse sat at his counter, feeling rather dejected and lonely. This was nothing new to him, but today seemed to have an extra edge to it. His head drooped, and he actually bothered to leave his glasses down on his face. He was leaning forward on his elbows, hands clasped together./p  
/p  
'I'm a part-time worker at a local Chinese restaurant in the Nerima ward of Tokyo, Japan. It's called the Cat Café. Don't ever ask me why. I think it's a sick ploy of irony on the part of the owner. You see, if you knew anything about me and my world, you'd know that I happen to have the distinct social misshap of turning into a duck when splashed with cold water. The supposed love of my life does a similar trick, only she turns into a cat. Her great-grandmother owns the place; so I guess for lack of creativity, or lack of caring about her great-granddaughter turning into a puss, this little hellhole of a damn good restaurant is thusly named. I say hellhole because how I'm treated-'/p  
/p  
Mouse ducked several empty bowls launched his way, but ended up with the fourth square between his eyes. He lay stiff on the floor, hands prone. Soon, an old crone pogo-ed back behind the counter and glared down at the young man./p  
/p  
"Stop wasting my good oxygen, Mr. Part-time! If you don't quit daydreaming, I'm going to have to find new help around here, you understand?" she spat, continuing to glare as only Cologne could./p  
/p  
'It must've been Tuesday. She was wearing her 'deep-muck-green' robes.'/p  
/p  
"y-yes m'am," was all he could stammer./p  
/p  
"You need to pick up the pace around here," she said, giving him a final look and bounding off./p  
/p  
'She was full of pep. She must've had another scheme for that poor wretch Saotome.'/p  
/p  
Mousse took a moment to look sourly in her departing direction, then pulled a Starbuck's cup out of his robes and began to sip./p  
/p  
'But it's a great place, anyway. We have the best noodles in three districts. Yeah, I know, I'm a little bit of a puss myself. I take what she dishes out because she's my boss, but besides that, she's also my tribal leader. Whooptee. It's not like I can help how awake I feel. Six months + a good streak of insomnia = yet another fabulous event in the absolutely fabulous life of one, Muu Tsu Jiang.'/p  
/p  
Mousse was sitting in his room, with a weapons catalogue in one hand, and a cordless phone in the other. He idly flipped through, looking for more additions to his vast stores of weapons he kept on his person.  
/p  
'Like everyone else, I had become a slave to the Anything-goes martial arts instinct.'/p  
/p  
"Yes, I'd like to order the Gil Hibben fantasy knife collection, with the Klingon daggars and the raptor knife, please," said Mousse into the phone, dropping the catalogue on the floor./p  
/p  
'If I ever saw something clever, like extra long bladed chains, or acrilicly clear nunchakus, I'd go for it in a minute. I'd flip through catalogues and wonder, "what kind of throwing knife _defines_ me as a person?" we used to read manga. Now, it was the Century MA collection.'/p  
/p  
"No, I don't want seafoam. Oh, that sounds nice. Crimson."/p  
Mousse walked to a cabinet, and opened up both sides. Inside was a crowded display of sharp, pointy metal of diverse shape, curvature, and function; all destined to be shoved through Ranma Saotome's heart./p  
/p  
'I had it all. Even the intricately carved wooden handled tonfas, with little scrapes and imperfections, proof that it was the product of the hard working, honest, simple indigenous people of wherever.'/p  
/p  
Mousse was now on the examination bed of a doctor's office. Normally he was in here for traction, but today was different. His haggard appearance and baggy eyes gave away instantly that he hadn't been getting much in the way of sleep recently. Dr. Tofu walked in, chart in hand, and shook his head./p  
"I'm sorry, Mousse, but I just can't prescribe something for you. No one has _ever_ died from insomnia, you know," he said, with a smirk./p  
"Yeah, but can't you just give me _something_? I'm in pain here!"/p  
"Hey, you want to know pain? Go down to the furinkan high Gym and check out the guys with severe emotional/identity/relationship problems. _That's_ pain," countered the doctor, "in fact, I'm not quite sure why you haven't joined yet." Mousse considered this. /p"Anyhow, just get some exercise and be sure to eat right, that's about all I can say. You need good, natural sleep," said Tofu, walking out of the room to tend to his other patients. He was rather busy recently. Mousse thought carefully about the support group./p  
/p  
'I think this is where we were a second ago. I look around the room and see some pretty sad hard-luck cases. To my immediate right is Ukyo. I know she's not a guy, but that seems to be the reason she's here in the first place. To her credit, her boobs are completely wrapped, and she's decked out in her boy's school uniform. You'd think after being here over a year, she'd get over it already. Well then, to her immediate right, was Gosunkuji, decked out as well. I could tell he was here for the emotional end of things, by the looks of all the candles and wards he had around himself. Paranoid Schisophrenic, by the looks of it. Next, we have Tsubassa, and it was a sheer act of God that kept the poor cross-dressing boy from trying to molest Ukyo on the spot. To his right was another firmiliar face, the Kuno's private ninja, Sasuke; he was to be the group leader for tonight. In a more somber mood was the girl to Sasuke's right, his mistress Kodachi Kuno. Of course, I say mistress in the manner of servitude; for anyone to think of Sasuke in a romantic fashion is nothing short of hilarious, borderlining on disgusting. Following the circle, next was Asuza; again, obvious emotional problems, though obviously a girl. That didn't seem to be a problem by the crowd currently gathered, for to Azuza's right, and my left, was Konatsu. This guy was a case; he was raised since birth by a clan of women to be a female ninja, despite his obvious male anatomy. What resulted was a varitible girl in a boy's body; this guy couldn't be masculine if you pumped him full of Jimmy Dean and took him out to a Conan film festival.'/p  
/p  
"...and, and I'm fairly certain; nay, I'm near positive that my dear Ranma-sama will never be my intended. No matter what I do, I can never gain his love nor his favor...Oh! If it were not for that red-headed strumpet, I'd -!"/p  
"Now now, mistress Kodachi, remember, we've already discussed this. Ranma and the pigtailed girl are one and the _same_," began Sasuke, but Kodachi began outright bawling. "yes, I know it's hard to come to grips with, my dear, but it's true," said the ninja, attempting to comfort the young gymnast. "If only you're brother would come to these things, he'd save all of us a hell of a lot of trouble," he mumbled under his breath. There was a steady string of nods around the room. He continued, letting Kodachi vent on his pant-leg, "You know, I see a lot of courage in this room. Here you all come here to lay down your rivalries, and your obsessions, and try and deal with your problems _together_. Now, I want you all to pair up and do some venting here, allright? Asuza, you with Ukyo; Gosunkuji, you with Tsubassa. Konatsu, you pair with our new visitor."/p  
/p  
'...Yeah, this was it, right here. As the 6-foot 'female ninja' clutched me close, it was fairly obvious this guy was in serious emotional shape. In the past year since he'd joined our little funhouse, he'd hit a severe growth spurt. It was getting harder and harder to conceal the broad chest and square jaw that he'd begun to sport. This was in clear contrast to this individual's self-image. He immediately began to weep and blubber as he held me close, myself feeling none too comfortable with the situation.'/p  
/p  
"I'm 19...I'm working for the love of my life, though I'm sure she'll never notice me for who I want to be for her...and I'm a lady, dammit! What kind of a lady has this kind of voice?! _Years_ I worked on this voice, making it as ladylike as I could, and now listen to it! I'm a baritone, for Christ's sake! My clan's disowned me, Ukyo's parents think I'm a pervert, they won't even talk to me, and Ukyo probably thinks the same of me as that hentai Tsubassa over there! But...we're still guys, though, I guess..." said the disgruntled ninja, beginning to cry in fervor. /p  
"Yeah, guys is what we are," said Mousse, the only thing he could bring himself to say. The bawling began in earnest./p  
/p  
'I found myself being able to cry, too. I let out my pent-up emotions, and had a good bawl right there on his kimono. I didn't need to say anything; everyone already knew my story. Besides, when I don't rant and rave on how much I love my 'darling shampoo', people tend to fear the worst. I actually went home and was able to sleep that night. I had found freedom; loosing all hope was my freedom. Babies don't sleep this well. I started going more and more, and began to diversify in my support-groups. Soon, I became addicted. I was going to just about anything; most or all of them I wasn't even applicable for. I was going to things like Brain Tumors Anonymous, and Mothers for the Recycling of Celuloid. You wouldn't believe the kinds of support groups they have in Nerima, and all of them had doughnuts and coffee. Sometimes, when no one was looking, I'd stash about two dozen up my sleeves in a night. They didn't care; they'd just put out more. When people saw and recognized me somewhere, it was usually at something tragic and possible, like Children from Abusive Families, and they usually left me alone, shedding a tear for me in passing. It was great; I slept well, I had all these people accepting me without even knowing who I was, and I felt like I belonged with all these people. Life was good; that is, until _SHE_ ruined everything.'/p  
/p  
Mouse looked decidedly uneasy, as he gazed out from Konatsu's tear-streaked kimono, and saw Shampoo casually sitting in the back, holding what looked like one of Cologne's pipes. It took him a minute to realize she was actually _smoking_ it. She looked him right in the eyes, and let out a wafting mouthful. The smoke drifted slowly out of her mouth, trailing upward./p  
/p  
'This was okay for starters. I mean, this was relationship and emotional problems, with a few identity crisis thrown in for flavor. She could have some or all of those, right? I mean, it wasn't like this was some kind of Testicular cancer meeting. What got me though was that I started noticing her at _every_ meeting I went to, even the damn Bolimia Nervosa meeting (and that one was interesting just watching how many doughnuts they'd eat, then 'excuse' themselves)! This was a catastrophe for me. In the past month and a half, I had never slept better, nor rested easier in my life! These support groups were like sources of energy for me; I could cry, and release. With her there, I couldn't cry anymore. She was a tourist, and her lie reflected my lie. After about a week of this, I decided to confront her.'/p  
/p  
Mousse turned away from the doughnut cart at the guided meditation session, and carefully carried away his cup of coffee and his creme-filled longjohn. He shot a burning glare in Shampoo's direction, and casually eased up behind her./p  
"I'm on to you. You're a faker. You aren't dying," he said, nonchalantly./p  
"What you talking about?"/p  
"Okay, in the Sylvia Plath philosophy way, we're all dying. But you're not dying the way the old mummy is dying," said Mousse./p  
"So what, stupid Mousse? It not like I care. What you do, expose Shampoo?"/p  
"Exactly. I need this!"/p  
"Ha! You do fake no worse than Shampoo. What you think, that you just scare Shampoo away? I watch you in your room, practicing how tell Shampoo off! It turning out as good as you plan?"/p  
Mouse was taken aback for a moment before he grit his teeth and prepared to bear down. This was going to get ugly./p  
"Listen you! You just turn around and -," was his beginning, yet he was suddenly cut off as Sasuke spoke up./p  
/p  
"Alright everybody! Let's get to it, let me hear some tears! Express yourself completely." said the little ninja. Suddenly, Shampoo clutched herself close to Mousse, and began bawling like a little girl. The Chinese boy's glasses immediately fogged up, and a gleeful grin sprawled across his face. Then, he caught himself. She was acting, of course./p  
"Why do you do this?" he asked her./p  
"Eh, is cheaper then movie, and get free doughnuts," was her simple reply./p  
/p  
'I didn't know how, but I needed to get rid of her, and fast.'/p  
/p  
"Please, Shampoo," he began, "I need this!"/p  
"Why _you_ come here anyway?" she shot back./p  
"Well, here....people accept me, welcome my friendship, and most of all they actually listen-"/p  
"-Instead of waiting for own turn to talk?" she finished. /p  
/p  
'I realized that perhaps we were truly both here for the same reasons. Well, this wasn't terrible, but the matter still stuck. There was no way in hell I could go on like this.'/p  
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As everyone began to file out the door, Mousse caught Shampoo's arm and started talking to her, but she immediately tossed him into the nearest wall./p  
"Ithe -" quoth the Chinese boy, peeling himself from the sizable crater. He continued to follow her, and began to speak./p  
"Shampoo! How about we alternate days? You won't have to see my face again, think of it that way!" he said, the mirth evident in his voice./p  
"Fine with Shampoo," said the Amazon, "you take lymphoma, tuberculosis and...no, wait. You take tuberculosis. My smoking doesn't go over there."/p  
"I don't know why you started that habit in the first place," said Mousse. "I think testicular cancer should be no contest."/p  
"Well, in technical, Shampoo have more of right to be there. You still have you balls."/p  
Mousse smirked at this./p  
"I take parasites," stated Shampoo. Mousse was beginning to get exhasperated./p  
"You can't have _both_ parasites. You can take blood parasites-"/p  
"Shampoo want brain parasites."/p  
"Okay. I'll take blood parasites and organic brain dementia-," began Mousse before he was cut off again./p  
"I want that."/p  
"You can't have the whole brain!"/p  
"So far, Mousse have four and Shampoo only have two!"/p  
"Then, take blood parasites. It's yours. Now we each have three," said Mousse, reaching the settlement. Shampoo seemed somewhat satisfied./p  
"So, we each having three -- that six. What about seventh day? I want ascending bowel cancer."/p  
/p  
'The girl had done her homework.'/p  
/p  
"_I_ want ascending bowel cancer!" stated Mousse defiantly. A passer-by gives a strange look to the both of them./p  
"That your favorite, too? Try to slip it by Shampoo, eh?/p  
"We'll split it. You get it the first and third Sunday of the month."/p  
"Is deal," said Shampoo, and they shook on it. Mousse looked down at her hand./p  
"Guess this is goodbye to the night scene for us," he said./p  
"Well, let not make big thing out of it," she said, walking briskly away./p  
/p  
'And this is how things with me and Shampoo shifted into a weird gear.'/p  
/p  
Mousse stood on the sidewalk, watching her walk away slowly. He sighed to himself, wondering if she would ever love him as he felt towards her. He didn't think it was possible; not while she was in love with Ranma. He knew she felt something for him, but it was nothing compared to this person she reletively barely knew. She had been with Mousse since they were childhood friends, but this guy had come out of goddamn nowhere, and stolen her heart. Mousse trundled home, sadly and slowly. He failed to notice the street he was on until it was too late: he forgot to watch for the infamous lady with the pail and ladle. Picking himself up again, he quacked unhappily to himself, and proceeded to waddle home./p  
/p  
'You wake up at the Tendo Dojo'/p  
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Mousse snapped awake, and picked himself out of the crater his body made when it collided with the ground./p  
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'You wake up at Furinkan High'/p  
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Mousse sat up, rubbing the back of his head where a foot imprint was still visible. He stumbled inside, looking for the onna-no-baka that made said imprint. He was confronted by a small child in the hallway./p  
"Excuse me, sir, can I help you?" said Hinako-chan. Mousse eyed the chi-vampire warily./p  
"Umm...I was looking for someone. Ranma Saotome?" he asked./p  
"Well, I'm sorry, but class doesn't start for another two hours!" she said, smiling sweetly at him. She walked away as Mousse began to mutter under his breath./p  
"Jesus. I must've been out for at least a day."/p  
/p  
'Ranma. Shampoo. Cologne. Lose a year of life, gain another bump. This is your life, and it's ending one bruise at a time.'/p  
/p  
Mousse's eyes snapped open. He was in Tofu's office, with a neck brace./p  
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'You wake up at various medical centers all across Tokyo.'/p  
/p  
Mouse trundled alone along the streets of Nerima, as people passed him in crowds. He failed to notice a certain spiky-haired individual pass him by./p  
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'If you wake up at a different time, in a different place, with different head trauma, could you wake up as a different person?'/p  
/p  
Mousse-duck climbed out of the Tendo koi pond and angrily quacked at the boy who kicked him into the freezing water. Grumbling in duck, he spread his wings and flew off./p  
/p  
'On a long enough time line, the suvival rate for everyone is zero. Even for the old crone.'/p  
/p  
Mousse again ducked flying bowls and caught them as they went by, washing them in the _hot_ water behind him. He contimplated one of his knives and his own wrist for a second or two before continuing./p  
/p  
'Every time some warlord or another would start another group effort of Nerimites, I prayed for a superpowered martial artist to take me out for good. A mega-chi-blast, a bone-crushing boot to the head...anything.'/p  
/p  
Still at the counter, Mousse turned around to see the front of the Nekohanten detonate as a searing Nuclear blast quickly enveloped the restaurant, and him along with it.../p  
/p  
'I'm sure I'd have a nice funeral, with whatever's left of me.'/p  
/p  
...and his eyes snapped open again. He was in the same place, cleaning the same dish, over the same sink. All the patrons are calm and peaceful. Suddenly, a voice spoke up to him./p  
"There are three ways to make napalm. One, mix equal parts of gasoline and frozen orange juice..." said a man at the nearest table to Mousse. Mousse turned to look at him. He appeared young, american, and ruggedly handsome. He wore a red leather jacked and sported a goatee. Without preamble, the man continued./p  
"Two, equal parts gasoline and diet cola. Three, dissolve kitty-litter in gasoline until the mixture is thick," said the patron. Mousse was confused, to say the least./p  
"Pardon me?" he said, with a note in his voice that said all that needed to be said in accordance with his mood, physical state, and emotional stability. The man smiled, and draped his arm over the counter, offering his hand to the youth./p  
/p  
'And this is how I met- '/p  
/p  
"Tyler Durden," said the man, shaking Mousse's hand. Turning back toward his table, he continued to speak, "you know, one thing I've always found funny about chinese history is that in every painting I see of the building of the great wall of china, all the workers no matter how long they've worked, or how many there are, are all smiling. Do you know why?" Mousse shook his head. "Well," continued Tyler, "the Emperor at the time had a teaming network of opium farms. Each one of those poor bastards were probably kidnapped, forced into labor, starving, alone, tired, yet think of their faces. They became euphoric and docile after every scant meal. 18 hour days, working as long as the sun can light the way, lifting stones that equaled their own bodyweight. Blank faces - calm as Hindu cows. They were too stoned to care," finished Tyler. Mousse chuckled, thinking of the many times Cologne had attempted to win over Saotome with different kinds of ancient Chinese 'herbal' arts. Feeling brave, Mousse decided to go head-on chatting with the guy./p  
"What do you do, Tyler?" he asked. Tyler's reply was quick./p  
"What do you want me to do?"/p  
"I mean -- for a living," Mousse countered, stumbling./p  
"Why? So you can say, "Oh, _that's_ what you do." -- And be a smug little shit about it?" said Tyler, with a smug grin of his own. Mousse let the silence hang. Tyler turned around and bent down to get his briefcase. "You have a kind of sick desperation in your life, Mousse," he said. Mousse silently agreed./p  
Tyler set the brown leather case on the counter, and turned the top of the briefcase toward Mousse./p  
"Open it," he said. Mousse looked at Tyler, then popped the latches and raised the  
lid to reveal quaintly-wrapped bars of soap. "Soap -- the yardstick of civilization," said Tyler, reaching into his pocket. "I make and sell soap..., " he continued, handing Mousse his card. 'THE NERIMA SOAP COMPANY.' "If you were to add nitric acid to the soap-making process, one would get nitroglycerin. With enough soap, one could blow up the world, if one were so inclined," said Tyler. /p  
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*********************************************/p  
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Comments? Suggestions? I know I'm basing this mostly off of the movie "fight Club" so there's only so far this thing can go, but there's still some leeway in characterization ^_--/p  
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Part 2 is on the way!/p  
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send all C & C to JukkaJikka@hotmail.com/p  
/p 


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